


But Is Anything Ever Easy?

by sarahkatlinewalker



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Connor Lives AU, Hospitals, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahkatlinewalker/pseuds/sarahkatlinewalker
Summary: Several voices could be heard outside the  door of the sterile white room as Connor stirred. There was a moment of confusion before one piercing thought shot through his brain; I should be dead.Basically, Connors recovery from attempt at suicide.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Heavy talk of suicide and self harm please be safe reading!

Several voices could be heard outside the door of the sterile white room as Connor stirred. There was a moment of confusion before one piercing thought shot through his brain; _I should be dead_.   
  
Connor opened his eyes blinking rapidly. He pulled up a throbbing arm, looking at the stitched up deep slash that traveled up it. He looked at his other arm with matching wounds and stitches and scowled clenching his fists, he wanted to tear out every last stitch, he was supposed to be dead. The door opened and his head snapped up to see his mother standing in the doorway. She looked as though she had been crying quite a bit, and Connor felt a pang of guilt. Her eyes immediately filled with tears as she rushed over pulling him into a tight hug.  
  
“Oh Connor,” she cried, hiding her face against his shoulder. He tensed under the touch, not sure what to do, he wasn't supposed to have to deal with this, he was supposed to be gone. She pulled away blinking back tears and taking a shaky breath, “I-I'm-- We’re all so--” her voice cracked cutting her off, as her body was wracked with another sob, she took a moment before she could speak again. “Why did you do it?” She asked, her voice quivering. Connor could feel his eyes burn with unshed tears. She wasn't supposed to _care_.

He shook his head silently, not meeting her eyes, he knew that if he spoke, he wouldn't be able to stop the tears. She looked at him searching for an answer; he turned away unable to give her one.

What could he say? Because nothing seemed like it made life worth living? Because no one would have missed him if he had managed to succeed? That they probably would have been better off if he had? There were too many reasons, and none at all, and all of it would only make her feel worse. She pulled away completely, standing up and taking a few steps back, trying to collect herself, and stop the tears. She cleared her throat turning back to him, “Well, we uh-- they want to put you in a mental health facility, to see if you're, well, if you'll be ok,” she said quietly. His head snapped over to her scowling.  
  
“A mental hospital?” He asked, his voice sounding scratchy and a bit strangled. She looked a bit startled by his reaction, but nodded nonetheless. He clenched his jaw, turning his head away again to look out the window, he didn't want “help” he wanted to be dead. He would just try again as soon as he got out, a hospital was only prolonging the inevitable.

“They're sending someone to give you an intake, to ask you some questions about how you're feeling,” she said tentatively taking a small step toward him again.

“I feel like I should be fucking dead, Cynthia,” he said scathingly, he doesn't turn to look at her as she makes a choked off noise, and he doesn't turn when he hears the door open and click shut as she leaves.

\-----------------

There was a woman in his room sitting in a chair, asking him questions. ‘Why did he do it, would he do it again, did he feel like he was a danger to himself or others,’ etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. He answered numbly, not caring enough to lie about anything. They could only keep him somewhere for so long, and when he got out, he would do it again, and make _sure_ it worked. Maybe they'd even put him on meds, and he could use those to kill himself.

The woman giving him the intake, he hadn't cared enough to listen to her name, informed him that he would be staying in a mental hospital for at least 72 hours. He nodded numbly looking out the window, not particularly caring.

They sat in silence for a moment before she got up to leave. She let him know his parents would be there soon to take him to the mental hospital before she closed the door, leaving him alone. He clenched his fists hitting the cheap mattress of the hospital bed in frustration; his cuts throbbed and itched at the disturbance. The last thing he wanted was to see his family; to see Cynthia's pity and Larry’s disgust and disappointment.

He didn't know how long he sat there staring out the window, thinking about how much he wanted to die, but at some point a nurse brought him food that he didn't touch, and later came to take out his IV.

Eventually the door opened up, and it wasn't a nurse. He looked out the window a moment longer, before turning to see his mother and father standing in the doorway; Cynthia still had red rimmed eyes, and Larry wasn't looking at him at all. He didn't know why he expected Zoe to be there, but she's not.

He's still in his own clothes, minus his hoodie, which he'd taken off when he’d tried to bleed out. He feels naked without his hoodie, his arms fully exposed, the angry red of his stitched up cuts feels like a siren signaling attention to them. He crossed his arms in a small attempt to hide them, irritating the stitches further, as they pressed on the material of his shirt. He can't find himself caring much about the pain, and he can't bring himself to look at his parents.

“Connor, we need to go honey,” Cynthia said in a sickly sweet voice that made his clench his fists tighter. He moved the sheets off of him and got off of the bed putting his feet on the floor. He felt woozy standing up at first, but he steadied himself and crossed his arms following his parents out of the room.

They checked him out of the hospital and made their way out to the car. The car ride to the mental hospital wass deafeningly silent, and the tension thick. Connor just sits in the back of the car numbly looking out the window.

When they finally get to the mental hospital, he doesn't put up a fight. He didn't want to be there, he wanted to go home and finish the job, but he had no energy to put up any fight. He answered all the questions his mom asked him as she filled out paperwork. Eventually a nurses leads them to a door swiping a card and telling his parents this is where they leave him. Cynthia pulled him close giving him a teary hug telling him she’ll call and visit as much as she can; Larry said nothing, not even looking at him.

He watched the door shut and followed the nurse back, going through the intake process numbly. He's barely conscious of anything, he's just doing as he's told, answering more of the same questions, waiting for it to be over. When they're finished she showed him to his room. It was a small space with two beds, a desk, and a small bathroom with a curtain for a door.

“They bed on the left if yours, most everyone is with visitors right now, you can stay in here, or there are some others in the family room,” the nurse said, he sat down on the bed silently. She looked at him for a moment before sighing, “You have to leave the door open, and if you need anything you can go to the front desk and ask, there should be staff around the halls as well.” He nodded silently, laying down on the bed. She left him and he shut his eyes, pulling the blankets over himself.

He wondered absently who had found him covered in blood passed out in his room. He wondered what Zoe thought of all this, she probably wished he'd succeeded, he sure as hell did. He finally let hot angry tears fall down his face, hitting the thin mattress with his fist, ignoring the pain shooting through his arm as he did so. He let himself cry, until he drifted of into a restless sleep. A sleep filled with thoughts of never waking up.

\-----------------------


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: suicide mentions
> 
> Sorry this took a while, I got kind of stuck, but hey here it is.

Connor was roused from his sleep, far before he felt ready to get up, by someone asking to take his vitals in the dark room, light filtering in through the door. He groggily sat up in the bed, letting them take his blood pressure and his heart rate. They thanked him and moved over to the other bed where someone seemed to have materialized while he was asleep. He rubbed his eyes blinking slowly, and vaguely wondered how long he’d been asleep, and what time it was. Too early that was fire sure.

He didn't really know if he was supposed to get up, or just go back to sleep, so he just sat and waited until the nurse was done taking the other boys vitals. They finished up quickly, dragging the cart of equipment and looked at Connor.

“Right, time to go to the family room for morning group,” the nurse said, leaving the room with the door wide open so light from the hall filled the room. Connor blinked a few times, drowsiness still clinging to his body. His apparent roommate walked out of the room with one of the thin blankets wrapped around him. Connor got off the bed clenching his fists as he realized his arms were still bare. He picked up the blanket from the bed, not because he was particularly cold, but it at least gave him more cover for his wounds than simply crossing them against his chest. He walked down the hallway lined with rooms, until he found what he assumed was the “family room” where quiet talking could be heard.

He stepped through the door observing many tired teenage faces, and a few faces younger than he expected to see. Some were filling the low set chains, and some were overflowing on the floor. He walked in feeling their eyes burn on him as he took a seat on the ground pulling his knees to his chest.

Everyone else was in more comfortable looking clothes, some in proper pajamas. He felt out of place, still wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt; the clothes he’d tried to kill himself in. He kept his eyes downcast pulling the blanket tighter with a scowl while others talked sleepily to one another or looked on the verge of falling back asleep, eventually he looked up as one of the few adults in the room began to speak.

“Alright kids, I'm Tiffany, and I'll be on staff today, with Sherin,” she gestured to another adult standing to her side, “And Mark,” she gestured to the man on her other side, “We’re here with you until after dinner, when night staff comes around, so show us some respect, and we’ll do the same for you. If you need anything you can ask us, or a nurse up front, even if it's just to talk.” She continued on for a while about why it was important they were all there, asking everyone to rate their anxiety level, anger level, and depression levels going one by one from their names listed on the marker board on the wall behind her. Connor lied, quietly giving himself low ratings when they got to him avoiding being asking him why his levels were so high as they did to a few others who had been honest. Eventually they got through all the names and she turned back around to face them.

“Now we have about 15 minutes for meds, changing and whatever else, then we're headed to breakfast,” Tiffany said. A few people started moving to get up, others staying where they were barely looking awake. He felt his arms burn and itch under the cheap fabric of the blanket, and wondered vaguely if his parents brought him any clothes, assuming they could, based on the other teens sleep wear and the staff member mentioning changing. He stood securing the blanket over his arms, approaching the staff member who had talked, to ask her.

“Uh, did my parents happen to bring any clothes for me or…?” he asked letting his voice trail off into the question as she turned to him.

“What's your name?” She asked, holding out a clipboard and looking down over it.

“Connor,” he said, a bit of irritation leaking into his voice, he could already tell no one here was going to have any idea what they were doing; nothing here was going to help.

She nodded, not looking up from the clipboard, gesturing for him to follow her.  
They make their way to the end of the hall where there was a small window on the left, several kids are lined up for what he assumes were meds, and big doors to the right that he was pretty sure he had come in through when he first got there. “I’ll be right back,” she said, swiping a card and opening a door. She returned moments later with a pile of his clothes, neatly folded, handing them to him.

“Thanks,” he said, shifting the blanket so it would still cover his arms to take the rather large pile from her. He blew at a strand of hair falling into his eyes irritably. “Is it possible for me to get a hair tie or something?” He asked clenching his jaw slightly, his own had been gone when he'd woken up in the hospital.

“Sorry kid, we can't let you have one,” she said giving him a sympathetic look. He could feel anger bubble up under his skin, but he tried to stay relatively calm, hoping the more he cooperated the more likely they would let him out, and he could finish himself off.

“Why? You think I'll choke myself with it?” He asked, the edge of the anger coming out.

“You'd be surprised,” she said, turning away.

He wasn't.

He made his way back down the long hallway to his room at the very end walking in. His roommate was walking out from the curtain door of the bathroom yawning. He was tall, taller than Connor even, who was himself is at least 6 feet tall.

“Hey,” he said sleepily, “I guess we’re roommates then. I'm Chad.” He said seeming generally like he was trying to be nice, but Connor wasn't really here to be nice and make friends. They never lasted for him anyway.

“Connor,” he simply stated in return nodding, not feeling particularly on the talkative side. The other shrugged walking out of the room, not quite shutting the door as he left.

Connor set the pile of clothes on the desk in the room, throwing the blanket back on his bed before rifling through the pile until he found a hoodie. He vaguely noticed that the drawstring had been pulled out, and he rolled his eyes. He carelessly pulled off his shirt irritating his cuts as he did so, and laid it on the the table before pulling on the loose black hoodie, he also changed out of his jeans into simple sweats for comfort.

Feeling a bit better now that he had his arms safely covered, he left the room walking back to the front of the hallway where everyone was lined up against the wall next to the doors. He crossed his arms, wincing slightly at the continued irritation of his arms, and leaned against the wall at the end of the line. The group of teens seemed to have become more awake, making them louder and more talkative, which Connor didn’t exactly appreciate. He was still half asleep himself, and hoping to god no one tried to talk to him.

Of course, nothing ever went his way.

A very short girl with messy dirty blond hair and a tired look approached him, she glanced up at him, but said nothing for a moment. He could tell she was thinking her words over carefully.

“If you've never been in one of these places, they suck ass, but just do what they say and you can get out sooner, you're probably going to be here at least seven days though,” she offered, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, “Just some friendly advice,” she said with a small shrug.

He was reeling a bit at the idea of seven days, they had said 72 hours, he couldn't do this for seven days. He needed to get out so he could finish himself off. He wanted to ask her why she thought it would be seven days, but when he turned she had already moved forward in the line and was laughing with a few of the other kids.

He found it strange to hear laughter there of all places, he assumed everyone else was there for the same reasons as him, and he couldn't imagine laughing right then. He couldn't imagine himself laughing at all. He didn't think that he could remember the last time he laughed when he wasn’t high, the idea of laughing trapped in there right then was baffling.

The line started moving forward as a staff member swiped the card to open the door,   
“Keep your voices off, and your hands to yourself in the halls,” she said sternly, opening the door and leading them out.

They walked through the halls, somewhat quietly, to a small cafeteria going through the line. The food was...edible, but Connor only really picked at it, not very hungry, sitting away from everyone else as much as he could. There were two tables--one was full and the other was full on one end with him at the other, alone. He was grateful that no one seemed to be bothering him directly, however the seemingly younger teens there were particularly loud, which was fairly irritating.

Mercifully their time eating wasn’t unbearably long lived, and they made their way back to the hall. When they got back to the family room they were told they'd have some free time before another group.

Turned out there was a lot of free time for them, he spent most of it in his room, laying in bed, thinking about dying when he got out, and being angry that he wasn't already dead. In between that however they did multiple “groups”. They did another mood ranking check in after lunch, went into a space called the rec room that could be compared to a gym with carpeted floors to do stretching and yoga for “exercise”, they were given time after that in the same space to use equipment in there, some kids walked around idly bouncing basket balls and shooting them, or they played ping pong. Connor opted out for using the markers they'd set out with shitty stress relief coloring pages. Several doctors talked to him at several different points in the day about how he was feeling, and the possibility of meds, later they split into two age groups with therapists to talk about their problems together, Connor mostly listened to the other teens, only contributing small bits when directly asked to by the therapist leading it.

Overall the groups weren't awful, they gave him something to do, but they wouldn't change his mind. None of this was going to change the fact he wanted to die.

After dinner when they made their way back to the family room, it was announced it was visiting hours, Connors stomach clenched with dread, he really didn't want to see his family. They called out names of people who had visitors and he clenched his fists hoping his name wouldn't be called, of course, he was. He lined up with the others crossing his arms and clenching his jaw, he didn't know if he'd be able to keep himself from an outburst if he went to see them, but he felt...obligated, mostly for his mother.

The group made their way through the halls past the door, towards the gym like space, pausing before the doors,  
“If you feel like you need to leave at any time, just come get a staff member,” the man leading them said opening the door.

Connor had expected to see his mother, maybe his father, a slim chance Zoe would tag along. What he did not expect was to see Evan Hansen looking down tugging on his shirt, and being the only face in the room he recognized.

\-----------------

Evans heart pounded in his chest as he sat waiting with other people in a wide open room. He kept his eyes downcast trying his best to not feel out of place around people who were probably family members of patients.

He wasn't there because of a family member, he was there because he was a liar. He hadn't known how to tell Connor's parents that they weren't friends and the only interactions they'd had had ended negatively right after he'd tried to kill himself. So when they had encouraged him to go visit Connor he couldn't make himself say no, and at least this way he could tell Connor about the lie himself so he didn't have to tell the Murphys or confront them, hopefully he'd just have to tell Connor and it would be over….Easy.

He bit his nails anxiously as he waited for the staff to bring in patients like they'd promised and when the door opened and he snapped his head up feeling his body seize up with anxiety. Several people he didn't recognize walked in before he finally saw Connor. He quickly looked back down tugging at the hem of his polo his shoulders hunching up farther. This was a bad idea, Connor was going to be really angry. He tensed up as he heard the chair across from him being pulled out. He glanced up to see Connor scowling at him with his arms crossed.

\-------------------------

Connor felt confused, and maybe a little angry, but mostly just confused. He approached the table he was sitting at and dropping into the chair to sit across from him. The nervous boy across from him glanced up and back down at his lap looking like he wanted to disappear. There was silence between them, Evans face steadily growing redder and his breathing heavier until Connor couldn't take it anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked, a dangerous edge to his voice as he tried not to pay attention to the girl who had warned him about being there a while and had smiled and laughed with other kids, now sobbing angrily at a man, her father maybe, across from her. Evans eyes snapped up to him and he opened his mouth to say something and shut it again repeating the motion several times before words began pouring out of his mouth,

“I-- Well, I just-- I'm really so sorry Connor, I didn't mean for-- I just got overwhelmed with your parents and-- You know, I figured I should tell you myself, and well you're parents wanted me to come see you-- God that's so weird sorry-- I just-- Sorry. I--” Connor cut him off, his head spinning at the disjointed spewing of information from Evan.

“Slow down Hansen, what the hell are you talking about? What about my parents? How the fuck do you even know my parents?” He asked, trying to wrap his head around anything that he had just said.

The last interaction he could think of with Evan, was finding some weird letter about his sister he had written, and freaking out on him in the computer lab. He could barely remember the letter and he couldn't think of a single reason why Evan would be there, let alone how, or why, he could possibly know his parents.

He watched Evan squeezing his eyes shut tight, his hands twisting the bottom of his shirt looking like he couldn't force the words out before he finally spoke again, “Well, see, you took that letter, it was my letter for my-- for my therapist, you know “dear Evan Hansen today is going to be a great day here's why” and you got-- well you got really angry and took it, so I guess that when you tried to-- well your parents found it and thought it was your...note? And they jumped into thinking we were friends, and they saw your name on my cast and I didn't-- I should have told them the truth but-- I'm sorry-- I let them think we were friends,” he said frantically talking a mile a minute barely giving Connor time to process his words. “And I understand if you never want to see me again, and you tell your parents I lied, but they just kept insisting I come see you, and this way they won't spring this,” he gestured frantically, “on you randomly,” he watched his face go through several emotions before he added, “And I'm-- I'm really glad you're not-- that you-- I mean that-- that you're ok. I mean not that you maybe feel ok because well--” he watches his face scrunched up with anxiety trying to find words, “I just know what that's like,” He said finally looking up at Connor.

Connor blinked several times trying to process everything Evan had just said. He watched Evan wither under his lack of response, saying sorry several times and looking back down. “I--” Connor started, trying to find the right words. He didn't know what to say, of course Connor was an asshole who had overreacted and stolen a therapy letter without really reading any of it and over reacting. He wanted to be angry that Evan had lied about them being friends, but somehow he wasn’t. He didn't have the energy to be angry, and Evan didn't particularly seem like he was trying to be malicious. Before the letter fiasco he'd gone to try and apologize, he guessed he saw a little bit of the same loneliness, the same feeling of not knowing how to reach out, in Evan that he felt, and maybe that had been right.

“What do you mean you know what it's like?” He asked, deciding to start there. Evan tensed up even more if it was possible and glanced up at him and back at his lap a few times, his hand moving to pick at his cast. “Well, uh, you know how I told you that I fell out of a, uh, tree?” He asked his voice getting quiet and his eyes staying downcast.

Connor nodded, vaguely remembering Evan telling him that, and him saying it was the saddest fucking thing he'd ever heard. Evan shrugged noncommittally, “I didn't-- I didn't fall, I just-- I let go,” he shrugged again biting his nail, keeping his gaze anywhere but Connor. It took a moment for what Evan was saying to fully sink in, and he wasn't really sure how to respond, he didn't feel like with how suicidal he was himself that he was in a place to tell someone not to kill themself, though that was his first instinct. “Oh,” he managed dumbly. Evan nodded slightly with another shrug not meeting his eyes.

Connor watched Evan screw up how face again opening his mouth to say something, but not being able to say it for a moment. “And I understand that doesn't make what I did better, and I'm sorry, and you can tell your parents I lied, and I might cry a little bit or something, but it's ok that's just what I do sometimes,” he rambled barely taking a breath.

Connor was still stuck on what Evan had said about being glad he was alive, and understanding being there. He had never been very good at comforting, and even though he was in the one in the hospital, he felt compelled to try with Evan. “I'm glad too,” he said a bit uncertainly gaining a look from the other, he shrugged, “I mean I'm glad you're ok too,” he clarified, hoping he hadn't said the wrong thing. They looked at each other for a moment before Evan tore his gaze away chewing on a nail, Connor remembered saying they could both pretend they had friends after signing his cast in huge obnoxious black letters, thinking maybe they wouldn't have to pretend. Maybe they could understand each other.

Then again he was going to be dead as soon as he got out of there, so maybe they wouldn't be friends, but there was no point screwing over this kid with his parents and telling them he lied.

“I won't tell my parents you lied about us being friends,” he said with a shrug, wondering vaguely why they weren't there. Not that he cared.

Evan gave him a disbelieving look, his eyes widening, “Uh thanks?” He said looking more than a little confused. There was a beat of silence between the two as each tried to figure what to say next, Connor glanced at the clock on the wall wondering how much longer the visit would last before his thoughts were I interrupted by Evan clearing his throat, Connor snapped his gaze to the other who looked down at his lap.

“Um, sorry, I was just thinking-- well you wouldn't-- you wouldn't want to actually be friends would you?” He asked tentatively glancing up at Connor.

Connors eyebrows shot up and Evan began trying to backpedal desperately, “Sorry never mind that was stupid sorry I--”

“Dude calm down,” he interrupted, “Sure.” He's not sure at first why he said it, but maybe, maybe this could be Connor's one last act of decency, being friends with this kid, maybe he'd have one person who wouldn't remember him as a complete asshole. Maybe that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, there's that hope you liked it thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know this chapter is kind of short, hopefully the next will be longer, and Evan will be in it.


End file.
